there is an end in friend
by evergreen melancholy
Summary: Draco/Harry throughout the years.
1. friends are forever

Note: This story will have 8 Chapters, all based on Draco/Harry through the years.

* * *

><p>Year One: Hand of [prosperity], let me [go].<p>

**_Make me smile, let me see_**  
><strong><em>Who you really want to be<em>**  
><strong><em>Walk with me, we're only kids<em>**  
><strong><em>With that in mind, today we live<em>**

The first time Harry Potter met Draco Malfoy, their terrible lives began.

Draco Malfoy, Harry decides, is a spoiled, good for nothing brat. It kind of reminds him of Dudley, except Draco is _much_ more skinny. (And much more good looking.)

Harry Potter, Draco decides, is a boy too skinny, too pale, too innocent, too..._likable_ to be the 'Chosen' One. He _is_ supposed to be _the_ Harry Potter, after all. (Little does he know, that, 6 years from now, Harry Potter will be their hero. _His_ hero. _Draco's_ hero.)

They smile, because they are children, not yet involved with Voldemort and wars.

They smile.

**_Gold and silver, fire and ice_**  
><strong><em>Opposites like cat and mice<em>**  
><strong><em>White and black, with hearts so pure<em>**  
><strong><em>You're my only cure<em>**

"If you come with me, you'll make friends more suitable for your title, Potter."

Harry looks into the face and hand in front of him. Draco has eyes like molten silver. They shine and glimmer, and Harry feels dizzy. Pale skin contrasts beautifully against black robes, and, a head of fine blond hair has Harry speechless. Draco was like a dragon. So dangerous, so curious, yet, at the same time, beautiful.

He was a murderer, but he was also a _god_. There was a light surrounding him, and, Harry feels enthralled.

The hand in front of him looked so _soft_, so _inviting_...

As he reaches out for it, a croak and a sound of footsteps jolts him out of his trance.

The look on Ron's face says it all, and Harry can only say what he feels at the moment.

"I'll find my own friends, thanks."

_**Listen to me, you are so real**_  
><em><strong>Let my voice be a veil<strong>_  
><em><strong>Dream of riches, dream of love<strong>_  
><em><strong>Spare me the heart of a dove<strong>_

Draco flies like the broom is _part of his_ mind. He controls the broom to his every whim. The broom was like another servant, like Crabbe and Goyle, except the broom was much more intricate and amazing than walking rocks.

Harry Potter does not know that he has flying in his _blood_. All he knows is that Draco is an arrogant bastard for taking Neville's Remembrall, and that before he knew it, he was up in the air.

Harry also flies like the broom is part of his mind. The look on Draco's face is ugly and dark next to Harry's bright and shining face.

This is _just_ the beginning to rivalry, they both think.

_**Look at me, see me breathe**_  
><em><strong>All I want to do is believe<strong>_  
><em><strong>You are a friend, you are a lover<strong>_  
><em><strong>People like you love me forever<strong>_

When Harry is hanging for life on his broom, Draco's heart beats. It beats in _terror_, and in _fear_, because Draco doesn't want Harry to fall. But, Draco is a _Slytherin_. And that _means_ things.

That means that he must laugh, along with everyone else, at the poor boy hanging for life. He must laugh and point, but his heart will watch and falter.

However, Harry doesn't fall, just _barely_ hangs on. And when he catches-_swallows_-the Snitch, his face is bright, shining, happy-and Draco feels that there could be nothing better in the world.

Pansy Parkinson's shrill screech jolts him out of his thoughts, and he remembers that he is a Slytherin, and Slytherin just lost.

Draco can only scream insults with his house instead of cheering Harry on.

**_Tell me hero, what do you seek?  
>The strong, ugly, proud, or weak?<br>Come to me, take my hand...  
>Let's run off, to another land.<em>**

Harry's hands clench around the Sorcerer's Stone, and he tries to run for it. He is only a boy, no match for Voldemort's and Quirrel's strength. In Harry's mind, he's already saying good-bye, saying thank you to his friends...

But he survives. Later on, Dumbledore tells him it's because he has _love_ in his veins, _love_ from his mother, _love_ from his father.

Harry crosses the halls, back to Gryffindor tower, but a voice stops him. The voice sends shivers down his spine, because he feels like it's been forever since he'd heard it, and it's so soothing and soft and _Draco_, and Harry sees that it is Draco.

"Glad you didn't die, Potter," he says, with a smirk.

"Glad you actually care, Malfoy," Harry says, not missing a beat.

They glare at each other.

_Next year was going to be fun._

_**Hand of [prosperity], let me go, let me free, and let me know.**_


	2. sins don't retaliate

Year Two: Wings, clothed in [black].

**_Sing me a song  
>Worship me, and I'll sing along<br>Maybe this was meant for us  
>Maybe this was love (it was lust)<em>**

Professor Lockheart was a poser, Harry and Ron knew that. Harry found that out the minute 2nd year started, when he walked into his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He could only talk big and make ladies swoon. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. Today was going to be a long day-an hour of useless babbling from a poser, Double Potions with Slytherin, and, on top of that, Quidditch practice.

Harry groaned mentally-Oliver Wood was a good coach, but he was too obsessed with Quidditch. It was either Quidditch this, or Quidditch that, and if it wasn't Quidditch, it was Harry. Oliver always worries about Harry, and, sometimes, Fred and George joke that maybe Oliver's worries are becoming close to sexual.

Harry is daydreaming and in a trance, but a sharp thwack to the back of the head from Ron wakes him.

"Come on, mate, you look tired. Maybe you should sleep," his friend says, worry apparent on his face.

"I'm fine," Harry mutters, but Hermione hears, and Harry knows that this won't end well.

"Harry, if you're feeling sick, you might want to go to Madam Pomfrey. It might be your scar hurting. You never know. But, if you're too lazy to go, I just learned a new charm that will heal you-"

Hermione didn't get to finish her sentence, because Draco stormed in with his posse and smirked at Harry and his friends.

"Feeling down are you, Potter? Caught in the blues? Or is it because you're thinking about You-Know-Who? Harry Potter, the Chosen One-more like, the Cowardly One," Draco sneers, and Pansy snickers. At the sight of her, Harry feels sick. She was draping herself onto Draco like he was her God. That in itself wasn't really angering Harry, but it was more like, he felt, weird.

Not weird, but maybe jealous. And, Harry knew a good insult to get Draco off his back.

"No, Malfoy, but maybe if Parkinson there stopped using you as a human pillow you'd see better that I'm perfectly fine," Harry snaps back, and glares. Pansy scoffs. Ron and Hermione snicker.

Draco's face is ugly.

**_You chased me to this point  
>I ran so hard with this ache in my joint<br>Stop following me, I feel faint  
>You're peeling off my resolve like old paint<em>**


End file.
